


The Frying Pan Conversation

by love_killed_the_superstar



Category: W.I.T.C.H.
Genre: Coming Out, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, Holidays, Pansexual Character, Post-Canon, Road Trips, mix of cartoon and comics canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_killed_the_superstar/pseuds/love_killed_the_superstar
Summary: “What, you mean you can't just up and introduce me as your banging girlfriend?”“No, Irma,” Cornelia said through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Because up until today they think I've been dating an aspiring future botanist from State U, not the girl who once snorted orange juice out of her nose during a Boy Comet marathon.”(Cornelia and Irma spend Christmas with the Hales.)





	1. i see you, the only one who knew me

**Author's Note:**

> Happy femslash february! I discovered my love for these two as a pairing when I drew them earlier this month, and I wanted to write a fic that did their characters justice after finding virtually no fan content for them... it's very dialogue-heavy because it started off as word vomit and slowly morphed into a narrative, so there's plenty of flirting and joking sprinkled in. Also, one of the key motivators behind this fic is the iconic moment where I can make a 'Harold, they're lesbians!' joke because, well, Cornelia's dad's name is Harold.

Irma stared out of the window groggily as Cornelia took her sweet time loading two large suitcases and a handbag into the back of the car. She'd taken the liberty of shoving everything she needed into her signature teal suitcase and a tote bag with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles design on it, since it was to be expected that Cornelia would be bringing home so much junk for a two-week period.

A rapping of knuckles against the glass dragged her out of her daze, and she rolled down the window.

“Morning, Corny,” she drawled, rubbing one eye sleepily. “I've been driving since six and without the sweet remedy of coffee, so you'll have to take over until we hit the next pit stop.”

“As someone who had the sensibility to prepare coffee beforehand, I'll rise to that challenge,” Cornelia said with a smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. She leaned down, planted a wet one smack in the middle of Irma's forehead, then yanked on the door handle. “Now get out so we can swap over.”

“Only because that was the darned cutest wake up call ever,” Irma agreed with a yawn, stepping out of the car and into Cornelia's arms. Her girlfriend was ready for the Heatherfield winter, in a moss green shawl and mulberry-coloured dirndl skirt. Her cute winter ankle boots, cuffed with faux fur the colour of soot, added an extra two inches, leaving Irma squinting up at her in bemusement. “Are you _ever_ not wearing earth tones? And how am I supposed to kiss you back when I'm at eye level with your boobs?”

“You're creative, you'll figure something out,” Cornelia said lightly, far too chipper for so early in the morning. She spun Irma around, effectively taking her place beside the car, and plopped down in the driver's seat. Irma climbed onto her lap immediately despite protests.

“You're right, I did. I can finally get to your face.” Irma pulled her into a kiss, as messy as it was sleep-deprived, and grinned as she pulled back. “Course, I could have just kissed your tits instead.”

“Through this shawl?” Cornelia raised her eyebrows. “Nice try. It's cashmere.”

“Well, cash it in for some sweet Irma kisses, because they're incoming.” She puckered her lips for effect, and Cornelia hastily clapped a hand over her mouth. In the ongoing struggle, Irma's butt cheek leaned against the wheel, honking the horn twice before Cornelia forcibly pushed her into the passenger seat, giggling helplessly.

“Irma! I'm sure my neighbours don't want to be awoken by your butt on the steering wheel,” she chastised, but she was grinning from ear to ear. Irma rolled her eyes, still giggling like a fool, and fastened her seatbelt.

“Spoilsport. Anyway, I'm gonna catch some sleep, so no singing along to the alphabet song while I'm snoozing, okay?”

“Where you get the impression that I'd be listening to anything but classical, I'll never know,” Cornelia responded nonchalantly, grabbing her flask of coffee from the cup holder and offering it out to her. “Here, some coffee and a short nap and you'll be right as rain.”

Irma took a swig, spent the next few minutes complaining about Cornelia's shit taste in coffee, and curled up in the passenger seat, insisting on wearing Cornelia's cashmere shawl to snooze in.

“If you drool on it, I'm holding you accountable for dry-cleaning,” she warned, but her tone held no malice and Irma made a point to give it a wet kiss before curling up against the window and drifting off.

 

…

 

“Hey, you're getting spit on my shawl.”

Irma was nudged awake with a playful left hook to the chin, and she groaned as light seeped into her vision. The morning sun was already higher in the sky, and making its presence known by proceeding to blind her.

“Ugh, what time is it?” she groaned, shielding her eyes with one hand and wiping at her mouth with the other.

“Half ten. At this rate, we'll make it to my parents' cabin for mid-afternoon.” Cornelia climbed back into the driver's seat and thrust a wrapped sandwich into Irma's face. “Here, I picked you up a breakfast sandwich.”

Irma took in the scent of bacon and egg, and immediately her mouth began to water all over again.

“Oh man! Cornelia, have I ever mentioned what a goddess you are?”

“Once or twice,” she remarked with a smirk, unwrapping her own breakfast bagel. “Mostly after cunnilingus.”

“Cornelia Elizabeth Hale, that mouth!” Irma swatted at her arm playfully, before tucking into her sandwich. She eyed Cornelia's bagel. “You still veggie?”

“Yep,” she said distractedly. “Thinking of going vegan for my new year's resolution, but finding vegan alternatives in service stops seems like a pain.”

“You pansexuals and your crazy dietary choices,” Irma grumbled, an impeccable impression of her father, shaking her head. Cornelia grinned.

“That's a thing?”

“Read it on Twitter.”

“Oh, so you're stereotyping me now?”

“When _don't_ I stereotype you, blondie?” Irma teased with a wink. “You do realise if you go vegan my dad is never gonna cook for you again? He puts cheese and butter in _everything._ ”

“That's fine,” Cornelia said with a shrug. “I'm sure Anna will bend over backwards searching for vegan cookbooks. Chris will hate me for it, but he hates me anyway.”

“It's _possible_ he doesn't hate you,” Irma countered. “He just doesn't like that he has to deal with _two_ annoying big sisters now instead of just one.”

“An understandable dilemma,” Cornelia agreed. She took a few moments to finish her bite of bagel before continuing. “I'm sure it can't be easy knowing his sister's dating the hottest girl in the universe. He'll end up having to settle for less no matter what.”

“Narcissist. Anyway, since I came out my dad and Anna keep trying to land home the point with Chris. Like, 'if you bring a boy home instead of a girl, it's no biggie, okay?' Part of me thinks its endearing, but mostly I'm just offended that Chris is getting an easy ride and not taking full advantage of their newly opened minds.”

“Ah, well, he'd have to have those leanings in the first place to take advantage of them,” Cornelia pointed out, chewing thoughtfully. “And from the looks of things, Chris is as straight as a goal post.”

“I mean, he's thirteen and still thinks girls are gross, so there's hope yet.” Irma shrugged. “What about Lillian? Think she's gonna be psyched that you're dating me?”

“If disappointment could be a more powerful emotion, she'd probably be feeling that?” Cornelia suggested with a grin. “I mean... she got on pretty good with Peter. Who knows what she'll say to know I left Heatherfield's cutest surfer to date... Heatherfield's _second_ cutest surfer.”

Irma balled up her wrapped and threw it at Cornelia with a scoff.

“Rude! And hey, I may not be beach hunk material, but I'm beach _chunk,_ and that's a _very_ attractive quality.”

Cornelia reached over to pinch Irma's cheek playfully.

“That's right. Peter could slice beef with that jawline. I _much_ prefer these chubby cheeks.”

“You mock, but I have many selfies with lipstick-covered cheeks in my evidence locker,” Irma retorted. “You _do_ love these chubby cheeks and I can prove it too!”

Cornelia leaned over and pressed a kiss to the cheek in question.

“You don't need to prove _anything,_ ” she replied, an impish grin on her face. Irma's eyes narrowed and she stretched across to kiss Cornelia squarely on the nose.

“Let's just agree that we're both adorable and call a truce. Got any of that disgusting coffee left?”

Cornelia reached into the cup holder and presented a brandless fair trade coffee cup proudly.

“Why waste my coffee on your ruined taste buds when I could just overload you with sugar instead?”

Irma clapped her hands against her cheek with a squeal, before gripping the coffee cup like a life preserve.

“Cornelia, you are an angel among women everywhere, you know that? The best girlfriend a girl could friend! Ellen and Portia _who?”_

“Your excitement over pit stop coffee is just a little bit sad.”

Irma shot her a glare that soon melted into a grin as she took a gleeful sip.

“You put in three sugars? Corny, now you're just spoiling me!”

“What can I say, I'm a renaissance woman.” She took a sip of her own coffee and buckled herself back in. “I don't mind driving for a bit longer, but we'll switch at lunch time, okay?”

“Dealio. Man, you're the coolest. Did you forget to pack the stick that's normally in your butt?”

“Don't push it, dear, or I'll throw your coffee out of the window.”

As Cornelia pulled out of the parking lot and onto the junction, Irma pulled the shawl a little tighter around her and sipped her coffee. She was gradually feeling like herself again, and not some subhuman creature who'd been stomping around since 5:30 that morning. Cornelia had on some kind of smooth jazz radio station, blasting that good and horny Dionne Warwick song that Cornelia put onto every custom playlist she sent to Irma, and Irma felt the need to shake up the momentum of the car a little. Wordlessly she plugged in her iPod and began switching through tracks.

“Irma!” Cornelia protested. “I was listening to that!”

“You mean you don't want to pop your pussy to Karmilla's latest single?” Irma asked, eyes popping in disbelief. “Man, you'll _love_ her new stuff now she's publicly come out, it's like her entire discography suddenly makes ten times more sense in the context of the metaphysical closet.”

“Karmilla's gay?” Cornelia asked in disbelief. “Since when?”

“Bi,” Irma corrected. “Since like, last March? How is this news to you?”

“Ahh. I don't know, I'm still stuck on Dionne Warwick after all this time.”

“Fair enough. Well my darling Corny, in fifty years when you catch up with contemporary music again, give Karmilla's upcoming album a listen, so far it's really angsty and gay. _And_ also uplifting and gay.”  
“Sounds like a blast.”

Irma scrolled to Karmilla's latest song, _Claim To Closet Fame,_ and let the first few bars wash over them in a blissful silence.

Then she started wailing about kissing down a woman's chest in a darkroom, and Cornelia grimaced.

“Her passion is a bit scary.”

Irma shrugged.

“Passion is passion, babe.”

“So,” Cornelia said quickly, not wanting to press the issue of their clashing music tastes any further, “this is going to be a very important winter break.”

“Uh huh.” Irma sat up a little straighter. “Our darling Cornelia's ready to jump out of the closet and scare her parents half to death over an awkward dinner where they'll be paranoid she's gonna tell them she's pregnant or dying or flunking her degree instead of just making the frying pan joke over a face-time call and being done with it.”

With a deep sigh through her nose, Cornelia pushed her hair back. “It's not that simple. First is the idea of explaining pansexuality to my parents, who by the way, still think there's only two sexual orientations and being bisexual is a one-foot-out-of-the-closet situation. So brace yourself for _that._ ”

“Noted. Go on.”

“Then we'll have to go through the stages of my parents asking if they did something wrong, if I've been in a toxic relationship, if I'm just confused, and all of that fun stuff. And they'll say, 'Peter is such a nice boy, why would you choose to be gay?' which brings us right on back to point one.”

“So this will be a circular conversation. Understood.”

“And then, finally, we'll tell them that we're in a relationship. But I need them to understand my identity first and foremost, Irma. You can understand.”

Irma shrugged. As far as coming out had gone, being gay and dragging Cornelia along to Heatherfield Pride as her girlfriend had been one and the same, but she got the jist.

“What, you mean you can't just up and introduce me as your banging girlfriend?”

“No, Irma,” Cornelia said through gritted teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Because up until today they think I've been dating an aspiring future botanist from State U, not the girl who once snorted orange juice out of her nose during a Boy Comet marathon.”

“No fair, that was one time and I was thirteen!” protested Irma, throwing up her hands in disbelief. “You can't hold that over me forever!”

“I don't, but they'll remember because it was my mother's couch that had orange juice stains on that never quite went away,” Cornelia pointed out tiredly. Irma groaned dramatically and flopped back in her seat, hand thrown over her face.

“Are they ever gonna approve of me being your girlfriend?” she grumbled. “I don't fancy marrying into a family that thinks I'm some good-for-nothing slob.”

“Of course they don't think that!” Cornelia said quickly, switching lanes to let a FedEx van pass. “Sure, they probably aren't expecting mystery botanist guy to be... well, you. But once they get over the fact that you're a woman, I'm sure things will settle down! I mean, my mother can be a little critical, but Lillian is just as messy as you, if not worse, and my dad adores her. Besides, he finds your jokes funny.”

“That's because he doesn't know I'm banging his daughter!” Irma exclaimed, huffing. Cornelia blushed a little and rolled her eyes.

“You're being ridiculous. First of all, my parents don't need to know we're having sex.”

“Oh yeah, because that isn't immediately the conclusion they'll jump to when you tell them since we're supposed to be sharing a pull out couch for the trip!”

“We didn't just immediately jump into sex when we got together, if you recall,” Cornelia continued, eyes trained on the road ahead. “I'm sure my parents won't mind us sharing the couch. Besides, I doubt we'd be able to without breaking it, that thing is horribly flimsy.”

“I'm amazed our darling princess Cornelia hasn't protested against the couch more,” Irma remarked, shooting her a playful look. “Remember when we went on vacation together that one summer? We had to force you into a sleeping bag!”

“The guest bedroom only has a single bed, which Lillian is taking, and they weren't expecting us to join them over winter break, so it was the couch either way.”

“Well, when we go on to my place after the first week, we can share my bed. Dad and Anna made me tidy up my room, you'll be pleased to know, and Anna sat me down for a talk about 'being safe, even with a girl'. Which was _super_ fun, by the way.”

Cornelia snorted out a laugh.

“Your cop dad isn't gonna arrest me for propositioning his daughter, is he?”

“Part of him was relieved, actually,” Irma recalled with a gleeful expression. She cleared her throat, doing her best Tom Lair impression. “'I can't say I'm not surprised, but a woman will treat you properly. Men can be animals.' Honest to god, he said that. As if you're the most pristine girl in Heatherfield.”

“He's only relieved because you had such bad taste in men,” Cornelia replied, mouth crinkling upwards mischievously. “I've had the pleasure of getting to know a few gentlemen in my time.”

“Yeah, well, there's a reason I had such bad taste in guys, you know!” Irma retorted. “Every time one would so much as smile at me I got the wrong end of the stick, little did I know.”

“All tall beautiful blondes,” Cornelia mused. Her smile broke out into a grin as bright as the sun outside, and she clasped the wheel with new energy. “My my, Irma Lair, you sure do have a type, don't you?”

Irma blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Oh, come on! This is – this is bullying, harassment, defamation-”

“It's the truth! Remember Andrew Hornby?”

“Oh my _god,_ please don't bring up Andrew Hornby at a time like this.”

Cornelia's eyes twinkled with mischief. “What was it now? You almost exposed yourself as a guardian by sneaking out to a party transformed, wooed Andrew Hornby, and when he tried making a move on you...”

“If you finish this story, I swear to god-”

“That's right! You turned him into a frog!”

Irma, face bright red, butted her head against the window in defeat.

“I'll turn _you_ into a frog if you don't put a sock in it, Corny!”

As their playful bickering continued, Cornelia's phone started to buzz.

“Irma, get that for me,” she ordered, eyes trained on the road.

“Sure, your highness,” Irma drawled, rolling her eyes and reaching for Cornelia's sleek rose gold smartphone. She unlocked it with ease (Irma's birthday, could this girl get any lamer?) and the screen lit up. “Hay Lin's calling.”

“Patch her through, I guess. And put her on speaker!”

Irma swiped and held the phone up, rolling down the window a crack to let some breeze in. The cold was biting, instantly earning a complaint from Cornelia, but it just felt like another authentic piece of Hay Lin that Irma wanted in the car with them at that moment.

“Hey guys! Are you there yet? And is that Karmilla I hear?”

_Claim To Closet Fame_ was on its third loop.

“We still have about four hours to go,” Cornelia supplied, “and Irma, change the damn track already.”

Irma switched it over to the B-side track, _Sensual Orientations._

“Hay Lin, I'd just like to announce how hurt I am that you called Cornelia first when I'm your top contact,” Irma declared, hoping her pout could be heard down the phone.

“Irma, I tried your phone but you never picked up!” Hay Lin retorted. There was some shuffling, and her voice sounded slightly further away than before. “Bear with me, I'm moving boxes.”

Irma fished around for her phone, noting the three missed calls with a heavy sigh.

“You're right. I'm just a terrible friend.”

“Nope, you're just terrible at leaving your phone off of silent.”

“ _Your hidden pink is a weapon; So shoot me into heaven,”_ sang Karmilla.

“Irma, is this one about sex too?” Cornelia complained.

“Just wait until you get to the pussy rap, Cornelia,” cackled Hay Lin from down the line. “Me and Irma have been practicing in our free time.”

“If we get that far I'll hang up,” Cornelia warned, shaking her head in dismay.

Irma stuck her tongue out, before gleefully turning her attention back to the phone.

“So what's this call about anyway, Hay Lin?”

“I thought you could use a practice model for when you and Cornelia make your big announcement!” Hay Lin chirped. “If Cornelia's parents are as hard to convince as I've been told.”

“When they find out the first thing they'll ask is which one of us is the man in the relationship,” Cornelia deadpanned. Hay Lin burst out laughing.

“Well, of course they're gonna assume it's me,” Irma grumbled, “just because I wear sports bras and read comic books and can burp up to F in the alphabet.”

“Well, hit me with your perfectly crafted coming out speech,” Hay Lin interrupted cheerfully, with a thump as she lowered the boxes. “I'll give you a worst case scenario so you'll feel better!”

“This is never gonna work,” Irma giggled.

“I'm not doing this.”

“Come oooooon,” Hay Lin whinged, and Irma joined in. “Do iiiiit.”

“Fine, fine!” Cornelia exhaled. “Ugh, here goes. Mother, Father, I've been meaning to say this for a while. I'm pansexual. It means that I, that I feel attraction so people regardless of their gender.”

Hay Lin cleared her throat, impersonating Harold Hale to the best of her ability. _“Preposterous! Which one's the man and which is the woman, my darling Cornelia?!”_

Irma snorted.

“Why would he be asking that if he doesn't know Cornelia's boning me yet?” Irma pointed out.

“Irma!” snapped Cornelia.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hay Lin apologised, undeterred. “Got into the part too much. Let me try again. Ahem. _Cornelia, what does this mean? Are you saying you're a... a lesbian?!”_

“This is painful,” complained Cornelia. “I refuse to take this any further.”

“ _So you_ are _a lesbian??”_

“Hay Lin!”

“Aw, I'm only teasing,” Hay Lin said cheerily, unapologetic. “They'll be fine once they get past the initial shock of it all. I mean, it's the 21st century! Times are changing! And for all you know, they could be really chill. I mean, my parents used to hate me watching Hell's Kitchen but now they tune into it with me!”

“That's not the same thing and you know it, Hay Lin!” Cornelia snapped. She huffed and took a moment to compose herself. “Anyway, you're probably right. I'm sure things will sort themselves out after the initial shock, and then-”

“Stop, stop!” Irma interrupted suddenly, waving her hand around. Cornelia frowned, eyes darting between her girlfriend and the road ahead.

“What are you-”

“You feel it in your pussy like I feel it in my bones! You investigate my labia like Sherlock Holmes!” chorused Irma and Hay Lin at a deafening volume, as Karmilla began to belt out her rap verse.

“No,” Cornelia snapped. “No, no, we're not doing this, guys, we're not doing this!”

“When you're kissing down my thighs I never felt so high, so do whatever you please, 'cause when I cum I'm gonna fly!”

“ENOUGH!!”

 

…

 

The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky as they pulled up the driveway, not quite sunset yet. After exhausting Karmilla's album Cornelia had switched it to some station playing cheesy 90s hits, which had resulted in a passionate sing-along born out of pure nostalgia for childhood road trips as Irma had taken over the final stretch in the driver's seat.

She awkwardly parked behind Mr Hale's chevy camaro, the speakers blaring out the last few lines of _Breakfast At Tiffany's_ as they sat stationary. Her own car felt a little redundant in comparison.

“Your dad has good taste,” Irma said with a wolf-whistle. “How come he hasn't bought you a car yet?”

“He's waiting for my birthday,” Cornelia said with a shrug. “I told him I was interested in a prius. Mom told him that was too pricey for my first car, of course.”

“You have your dad wrapped around your finger, he'll hand it over to you gift-wrapped.” Irma leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek, and instinctively Cornelia moved away.

“Irma, please,” she said quietly, a sigh just beyond her lips. “We... we have to be careful.”

Irma rolled her eyes and leaned against the steering wheel.

“I know. Just, don't leave it too late, okay? The sooner you rip off the band-aid the better. At least they'll have the whole of Christmas to get over it, y'know?”

Cornelia nodded, reaching across to squeezed Irma's arm.

“Shall we do this?”

“Christmas break with the Hales,” Irma drawled. “Can't wait.”

Cornelia's parents looked poised and stylish as ever when they answered the door, and Harold wasted no time in sweeping Cornelia up into a tight hug while Elizabeth smiled and nodded poliely at Irma.

“Oh, how have you been, sweetheart?” Harold asked, rocking her a little in his arms. “Any trouble getting here? Feeling all right?”

“Dad, I'm fine,” Cornelia insisted, pulling away slowly. “And the journey went smoothly. Irma picked me up on time and we didn't hit any traffic.”

“Good, that's good.” He patted her shoulder as Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“They're both over twenty now, dear, perfectly capable of getting here in one piece. It's good to see you, Irma. Please allow us to pay you for the fuel, ferrying our daughter over here.”

Irma opened her mouth, but Cornelia cut in quickly.

“Mother, that isn't necessary!”

“Hey, I want some money back if it's up for grabs,” Irma hissed in her ear.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No no, I insist. It's so lovely of you to join us. I was a little worried all of your school friends would be tagging along. We wouldn't have the room, frankly.”  
Irma glanced at Cornelia.

“They were busy,” Cornelia said quickly. She shifted the suitcase she was holding and Harold instinctively reached for it. “Will and Taranee are studying and Hay Lin's helping her parents.”

“And mystery botanist man couldn't join?” Harold asked with a wink, hoisting the case out of her arms.

Cornelia blushed, refusing to look at Irma, and hurriedly choked out, “No, he could not!”

“Oh Harold, don't tease,” Elizabeth scolded, as he heaved the suitcase inside. “Come inside now, girls, it's chilly out.”

Irma drank in the sight with eyes as wide as saucers. The Hales had a swish set up, the cabin rustic yet elegant, with creams and cornflower blues somehow blending seamlessly with rich reds and golds. It sure beat the beach cabin she and her family visited every summer, that much was for sure. Her dad had a habit of hanging up those dumb singing fish plaques, as opposed to the deer head as a proud centrepiece in the Hales family cabin.

“This place is amazing,” Irma breathed.

“It's something, all right,” Cornelia sighed, a little off put by the hunting trophy herself. “Was that a gift from Uncle Edward, Dad?”

“Sure was! You know what they called me whenever my old man took us hunting? Tree Hugger Harold,” her father said with an awkward chuckle. “Could never bring myself to pull the trigger, myself. He spent a few days here before we made the journey, so we haven't had the chance to take it down yet...”

“Don't take it down, it's cool!” interrupted Lillian, dashing out of the guest bedroom with a scarf in hand. “I want to make him wear this when we decorate!”

“That isn't very tasteful, Lillian,” Elizabeth chastised, but Harold let out a hearty laugh and scooped her up into his arms.

“I suppose he won't have any complaints, will he?”

“You ever heard a disembodied deer head bitch about wearing a snowman scarf?” Irma muttered to Cornelia, who stifled a guffaw behind her hand. She waved hesitantly at Lillian. “Hey there, Lil.”

Lillian gave back a mechanical wave.

“Hi Irma.”

As usual, they had nothing to say to each other. Irma scratched the back of her head awkwardly.

After a beat of awkward silence, Cornelia pulled her over to one side.

“Here, let me take your coat.”

“Your sister is as sociable towards me as always,” Irma joked, shimmying out of her jacket and leaning into Cornelia's touch for a few moments before moving back.

“She's doing that teenager thing where she hates talking to anyone who isn't behind a gaming headset,” Cornelia remarked, hanging the jacket up beside the coats of the other family members. It felt a little like assimilation into the lives of the Hales, and filled Irma with a strange sense of gratitude, even if at the end of the day it only boiled down to them saving a hook for her coat. “Chris must be like that too?”

“Yeah, but he's been that way since he was eight,” pointed out Irma, shaking her head. “Every time I try and worm a conversation out of him he tells me he's busy. You know the PS4 was a gift for both of us?”

Cornelia cracked a grin and pinched Irma's cheek playfully.

“You poor thing. We'll reclaim it when we go to yours, Alchemy mentioned she lent you a few games that I'd enjoy too.”

“Yeah! You like horror, right? There's _Until Dawn, Outlast_... oh man, and _The Evil Within!_ That one's gory!”

“I don't know about that...”

 

…

 

“So, I noticed this place is devoid of decorations,” Irma commented, as they set about laying the table. Dinner was almost ready, and Cornelia's parents were insistent on taking care of the cooking for tonight since they had spent the day driving.

“They have a thing about it being unlucky to decorate unless we're all helping,” Cornelia explained with a sigh, distributing the silverware to each place mat. “We'll start on it tomorrow.”

“Cutting it a little close, don't you think?”

“I wanted to put up the tree days ago but Dad wouldn't let me,” Lillian huffed, sitting herself down and throwing her napkin across her lap before whipping out her phone. She began furiously texting, and Cornelia and Irma exchanged wry smiles.

“I did tell them that they didn't have to wait,” Cornelia said with a shrug, as they took their seats beside one another. “It's not my fault Mom and Dad are superstitious.”

“Wouldn't have pegged them as the type,” Irma remarked. She laced her fingers through Cornelia's, carefully obscured by the tablecloth, and flashed her a cheeky grin. “You don't take after them much, do you, Corny?”

Cornelia squeezed her hand firmly, holding her gaze.

“We lead different lives,” she said simply.

Elizabeth and Harold swept in briskly, setting down dishes of marinated cabbage, roast potatoes and a large portion of roast beef (as if an afterthought, Elizabeth hurriedly brought out a plate of vegetarian sausages for Cornelia). Harold poured everyone a glass of wine, and Irma couldn't help but wonder how Cornelia's parents kept up the gig of acting sophisticated all the time, even in the comfort of their own home.

They murmured a few words of thanks, before plating everyone up.

“So Irma, you're doing a teaching degree?” Elizabeth asked politely, as the family began to tuck in.

“Er, that's right. Not sure what subject I want to teach yet, maybe math or geography...”

“I think that will suit you marvellously,” Harold praised, in between bites of cabbage. “Teachers do far more than set homework, you know. They inspire! They set you upon your life path! Why, if I hadn't had such a passionate math tutor as a young man...”

Irma tuned out, glancing over at Cornelia. They'd gone over her plan multiple times during the drive, to the point where it was practically scripted, but as they sat there munching on potatoes, it became painfully obvious that Cornelia was frozen to the spot, wanting to cling to this moment of her parents' blissful ignorance for as long as she could. It wasn't like she could reach over to hold her hand with Elizabeth watching them both like a hawk, anyway. All she could do at this point was try and push Cornelia in the right direction.

“...and I simply wouldn't be the man I am today if I hadn't followed his advice and gone to the college he'd suggested,” Harold finished with a proud smile.

“Well, the college I'm attending isn't prestigious or anything, but I'm doing pretty well,” Irma said sheepishly, taking a sip of wine. It was dry and bitter, clinging to her tongue like sandpaper.

“That's what counts, my dear. And Cornelia, my sweet girl! How are your classes going? And how is your mystery chap?”

“About that,” Irma began, glancing over at Cornelia nervously.

“Classes are going well,” Cornelia said quickly. “And... he's, um... he's doing well, too.”

Irma gaped at her.

“Well, that's good,” Elizabeth murmured. “Though I do wish you'd tell us more about him. His age? Does he work?”

“We've only been out a few times,” Cornelia said quickly. “There's not much to tell.”

“Is he a good kisser?” Lillian piped up with a sly grin.

“Lillian!” Cornelia snapped.

“Well, talking to you about your boyfriend is like pulling teeth!”

“Stop arguing, you two!”

As the bickering continued, both parents intervening, Irma miserably chewed through her food, knowing the topic wouldn't be broached tonight.

 

…

 

After the plates had been cleared and Lillian had retreated to her room, Irma and Cornelia took to sitting out on the porch, staring up at the stars that were so much clearer than from the Heatherfield cityscape. It was freezing out there, their breath visible in puffs, but there was something tranquil about it too. As an added bonus, Cornelia knew her parents wouldn't be able to stand the cold and would grant them some privacy.

“Hey, Corny. I love you.”

Cornelia's eyes flickered over to Irma. She was looking pretty frost-bitten, with only a thin blanket thrown over her lap and cradling a cup of cocoa like a lifeline, but her eyes were filled with a tender warmth that had Cornelia melting instantly.

“Even though I didn't follow through like I promised?” she said softly, self-doubt creeping in as the winter stars twinkled overhead. Irma scoffed.

“Honey, I know a thing or two about how hard it is to say it to your parents. You gotta take it at your own pace.”

“I'll do it tomorrow,” Cornelia promised, mouth pulled into a resolute grimace. “I won't back down.”

“Simmer down, earth guardian, this isn't like going to battle against some otherworldly lizard villain,” Irma teased. “Do this when you're ready, not because you feel like you owe me.” She paused. “Of course, that's something else I love about you. You tackle everything with the same determination. Cramming for exams, kicking alien butt, giving me hickeys...”

“Irma, that was one time!” she admonished, face pink with indignation. She lowered her gaze, cheeks pinkening from more than the cold. “Where's this all coming from?”

Irma shrugged.

“Not sure, really. Could be my heart, but then, my clit's aching, so...”

“Irma!” Cornelia squeaked, reaching over to shove her playfully. Irma erupted into giggles, pushing caramel curls away from her face.

“Hey, I've been waiting months to see you again, and you're telling me we can't even have sex for another week because the fucking camp bed won't be able to stand it. You can't blame me for feeling horny.”

“Self control, please?” Cornelia huffed, but she was smiling. “My parents could be listening in for all you know.”

“Your dad is helping himself to some scotch and your mom is watching Law and Order,” Irma pointed out, rolling her eyes. “I think we're safe.”

“My mother's so nosy, she'll be checking up on us any minute now,” Cornelia continued, taking a sip of cocoa. “Anyway, I love you too. Not that you need reminding.”

“Hey, you're hard to read sometimes,” Irma defended. “And anxiety can be a real bitch. I'm one of those needy types who craves constant validation, you know how it is.”

Cornelia pulled a face.

“ _Constant_ validation? I'm not qualified enough. You'll have to demand it from me or I'll never remember to say anything at all.”

“The hell kind of girlfriend _are_ you?” Irma uncrossed her legs and stuck her foot out from beneath the blanket to lightly nudge Cornelia's knee. “Be nice to me, my self-esteem is shit.”

“Though why, I can't imagine,” Cornelia said softly, shaking her head. “I mean, you're beautiful, you're intelligent, you have a wonderful sense of humour, aside from being annoying and inappropriate at times... there's just so many things to like. I can't understand why you'd devalue yourself.”

Irma rested her chin in her hand dreamily. “Well, hot damn. This is why I need you complimenting me all the time, you're a fucking natural at it.”

Cornelia blushed. “It's hardly my fault you're so easy to compliment, is it?”

“Even when you're sassing me it's complimentary,” Irma exclaimed in disbelief, snorting.

She scooted her chair closer to Cornelia's, almost spilling her cocoa in the process, if not for the advantage of Cornelia's telekinesis on their side keeping it in check. She threw the blanket over the both of them and rested her head against Cornelia's shoulder.

“I will tell them,” Cornelia said gently, as they stared up at the sky of stars. “It's not that I'm ashamed of you, Irma. It's just... harder than I thought it would be, now I'm face to face with them.”

“For the last time, Corny, you don't gotta justify yourself,” Irma scolded, pulling her in closer. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I got worked up over something like this? You said it yourself, this is about _you,_ not just our relationship. So stop beating yourself up every two seconds just because you're not sticking to the plan, it's the first damn day!”

Cornelia huffed out a laugh and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Irma's head.

“I love you, dork.”

“I love _you,_ blondie.”

As they huddled under the blanket, basking in the crispness of the cold night air, Elizabeth peered at them through the window. She opened her mouth to speak, but something compelled her to stay silent. Instead she watched, with uncomfortable curiosity, as Irma and Cornelia's hands clasped together.

Wordlessly, she left them to it.

 


	2. funny how we run around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You're awake...”  
> “Great detective work, Sherlock, want a medal?”  
> “It's too early in the morning for you to be sassing me,” grumbled Cornelia, half-heartedly throwing her phone onto the blankets and scooting closer to Irma.  
> “Good thing you're way too cute for me to be sassing you with intent to kill,” Irma teased, pulling her in closer for a hug. She was overly warm from sleep and Cornelia happily melted into it. Irma's boobs made for an excellent pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one year anniversary of this fic! Here's chapter 2! cornirma, you have not been forgotten. <3  
> (Yes, I'm sorry it took me so long... but hey its a 7k long chapter so... you're welcome)

Cornelia loved watching Irma sleep. While she usually ran her mouth during the day, when she slept she had some sort of serenity around her, a tranquillity one wouldn't expect from someone who spent half the night tossing and turning, hogging the blankets and drooling all over her pillow. Yet, when morning came and Cornelia returned to wakefulness, Irma was at peace with herself in the land of dreams, hair framing her face like a halo. It took all restraint not to kiss her, but Cornelia had never been a fan of kissing before one had brushed their teeth.

Instead, she continued to watch. It was quiet and dim, the early morning sun casting strange light and shadows throughout the main room where they were set up. Without her family milling around, it felt peaceful. She wondered if this was how it would be all the time, if she and Irma moved in together some day. Sure, it wouldn't be some luxury cabin, but the world would be quiet like this. There would be no eyes on her. The whole room would be theirs to lie in silence and watch each other and feel cosy and secure. While Cornelia _did_ want lavish things for herself someday, when she was older and things like throw pillows and vases mattered greatly in the grand scheme of things, it amazed her how easily she would sacrifice that just to be able to wake up next to Irma each morning and take on the day, regardless of whether they were in a plush king-sized bed or squashed together on a pull-out.

Geez. She really was picturing the rest of her life with Irma, like the hopeless romantic she was.

She rolled over to reach for her phone in the semi-dark. Too early to start messaging the group chat, but she hedged her bets with someone who _did_ have a tendency to be up at this hour.

_Will, you awake?_

Not three minutes later, she received a reply.

_ofc?? no rest for an athlete, corny. how did telling the parents go?_

_It didn't. Turns out I'm a bit of a coward._

_nah it's tough. i only told my mom about being genderfluid a month ago, and i had no idea if she'd even CARE about it_

_Well, she cares about YOU. And from what you've told me, she's taken it well?_

The speech bubble indicating a reply stayed for a while, and Cornelia repositioned herself so that she could watch Irma doze while waiting on Will to get back to her. After a few minutes, her phone finally pinged, and she hastily lowered the volume as Irma stirred slightly.

_yeah, turns out dean being our teacher way back in the day finally paid off bc sheffield has diversity training or smth. he sat down w me and my mom and talked over all this stuff she was confused about. and she still doesn't totally get it, but she said she just wants me to be happy. guess that's all i really needed. stuff like if she comes to pride and w/e doesn't matter to me tbh, just knowing she's there for me is enough_

Cornelia chewed her lip wistfully. If only it worked out that simply for everybody...

_That's great. Really, I'm so happy it all worked out for you. I'm just worried about my parents, I guess. They're not bad people, but sometimes they can be so backwards with things. Really, I just want them to accept that this is a part of me so I can stop lying about a college guy just to keep them from overanalysing the way I am around Irma._

_hey i get it! you're both just so darn cute together!_

_Indeed we are._

They shared some quick, casual conversation (Will, as usual, had some funny story to tell her about life as Taranee's roommate, and Cornelia caught them up on the bullshit that was her and Irma's road trip to the cabin) before Will had to leave to start their morning swim practice.

“Psst. Blondie.”

Cornelia dropped her phone in surprise, catching sight of rich green eyes watching her intently.

“You're awake...”

“Great detective work, Sherlock, want a medal?”

“It's too early in the morning for you to be sassing me,” grumbled Cornelia, half-heartedly throwing her phone onto the blankets and scooting closer to Irma.

“Good thing you're way too _cute_ for me to be sassing you with intent to kill,” Irma teased, pulling her in closer for a hug. She was overly warm from sleep and Cornelia happily melted into it. Irma's boobs made for an excellent pillow.

“You're comfy,” she mumbled.

“Yup, cushy tits run in the family,” Irma remarked, relishing in the way Cornelia shuddered with an implosion of laughter. “You know this is the first time in months we've woken up together?”

“Feels like it too,” Cornelia sighed. “I've missed this. You should really come visit me more often, you know.”

“Oh yeah? I visited you twice last term. It's _your_ turn to visit _me_ just as soon as daddy dearest hands over your fucking prius.”

“Well, no offence, but your college campus is like a 30 minute drive away from Heatherfield,” pointed out Cornelia. “I'd sooner you visit me than risk bumping into Uriah of all people at a house party.”

Irma scoffed. “Thanks a lot! It may not be ivy-league or State U or anything, but there's still a ton of stuff to do! Besides, pretty sure Uriah's at Sheffield Community College, Anna works with his mom.” She paused. “Though, I did run into our dear old chum Nigel at a Halloween party this year.”

“Oh? And how did that go down?”

“How do you _think?_ He followed me around half the night asking about Tara until I finally snapped and was like, 'you missed the boat, honey, our girl is gay as the day is long'. Haven't seen him since. Reckon he dropped out when he heard how swimmingly Taranee's life is going without him.”

“I doubt he flunked out because of a girl he was dumped by five years ago,” Cornelia deadpanned.

“Uh, hello? Our girl is a catch. He's lucky to have even walked the Earth in the same lifetime as her.”

“A bit dramatic, but I get the sentiment.”

Cornelia fell quiet, listening intently to Irma's heartbeat, her breathing.

“D'you think today's gonna be the day?” Irma asked softly.

Cornelia let out a noise, somewhere between laughter and a sigh.

“How do you always know what I'm thinking?”

“Because you have the antithesis of a poker face, darlin'. I've been reading you like a book since I was thirteen.”

She tangled her fingers up in Cornelia's hair, gently combing through, careful to avoid knots.

“I don't know if it'll be today,” sighed Cornelia. “Does it make me a hypocrite? I was so certain I wanted to do it this time.”

“Look. You need to stop putting this pressure on yourself to do everything exactly how you imagined,” Irma said firmly. “You don't have to tell them I'm your girlfriend. You don't even have to tell them you're pan if you aren't ready for it. We can call this off, you can spend the rest of Christmas break not having to worry about their reactions, and we can make out and cuddle and all that good stuff the second we set foot in _my_ house. Would that make you feel better?”

“No?” Cornelia reached up to pull Irma into a proper hug. “I want them to know how happy you make me. I want them to know that I'm happy being myself. But the part where I actually tell them? Opening up like that, it... it's a very emotional process.”

“I know. I know it is. But I promise you, once it's out in the open... never mind _their_ reaction, you will feel worlds better with it off your chest.”

“Ugh, why does my girlfriend have to be so wise?” Cornelia wondered aloud. Irma formed a fist and lightly knocked her on the head.

“If I'm going to be a teacher some day, I gotta be wise. I'm meant to be some sort of inspiring prophet, if your dad's stirring speech at dinner last night was anything to go by.”

“He's a passionate guy,” Cornelia shrugged.

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

A sudden creak from down the hall disrupted them, and they sprung apart, Cornelia sitting upright and reaching for her phone while Irma pretended to go back to sleep. A moment later, Harold's face poked around the door.

“Morning, darling!” he uttered in a stage-whisper, before stepping into the room clad in his robe and slippers. “Does Irma take coffee? I was thinking of brewing a pot to wake your mother up.”

“Only with six million sugars in,” Cornelia said, rolling her eyes fondly. “Don't worry, I'll take over. I know how to make it so she doesn't spit it out.”

Harold laughed, and moved over to start on breakfast as Cornelia set up the coffee maker.

“You two are as thick as thieves.”

Cornelia's hand froze.

“...Well, we're still good friends, but...”

“I drifted apart from my school friends when I went away to college, you know,” Harold mused. “I regret it now. The rift grew so big, and by the time I saw them again they were married, had families... and although we could still talk with ease about these kinds of things, the bond we shared at school – the books we liked to read, the movies we saw together, the pranks we would play on our teachers – all of that was gone. It was something we could look back upon and laugh at, but it's not the same.”

“I didn't know that.”

Harold offered her a kind smile, and reached over to crack some eggs into a bowl, dusting the mixture with pepper.

“Well, I think it's important to keep in touch with those you love. I was actually quite worried when I heard that you were going to your college alone. I know how close you are to the girls you met at Sheffield. I'm... glad that you were able to keep a close bond with them despite the distance.”

_Oh, if only he knew how close._

Cornelia set out some cups on the side, hoping her face wasn't burning. If she really was as easy to read as Irma said...

“Well, they're my friends. They're important to me.” She glanced over at him. “Dad, I'm... I'm really happy with my life right now. With the person I am, and the person I'm with.”

Harold stopped whisking, and moved over to pull Cornelia into a tight hug.

“I'm so glad to hear that, darling. I really am.”

They worked in a pleasant silence after that, and when Irma next rolled over, Cornelia was nudging her, cup of overly sweetened coffee in her hand.

“Rise and shine.”

Harold was whistling away as Irma took her first sip, his back to them as he began tossing some bacon and eggs in the pan.

“Mmm. You made it just how I like it.”

“Well, you're picky. If my dad made it you'd choke it down and feel awful the rest of the day,” Cornelia teased. Irma stuck her tongue out.

“Jerk.” After another sip, she added coyly, “I heard the conversation between you two. It was sweet. Are you thinking today might be the day after all?”

“Maybe,” Cornelia said, a flame of confidence ignited in her heart. “He really wants me to be happy, so... maybe when I tell him, he'll understand.”

“Look, Harold Hale might not be leading a revolution, but he's always seemed like a chill guy to me,” Irma said quietly. “If you keep dropping hints, he might figure the rest out on his own.”

“Maybe.”

Cornelia glanced back at her father, still blissfully unaware of their conversation, and she leaned down to press a kiss to Irma's forehead.

“Now, drink up. We have a big day ahead of us.”

 

…

 

Breakfast was uneventful, with Lillian dominating the conversation with talk of some dream inspired by a zombie TV show she'd been binge-watching over Christmas break. Irma munched on French toast and bacon and watched in amusement as Harold became disgustingly sweet with Elizabeth, pressing kisses to her head whenever he went to refill drinks, even reaching down to pinch her behind when he was sure his daughters and his oldest's girlfriend weren't looking. Elizabeth swatted his hand away, pretending to be mortified at his brazen display in front of Irma, but the rouge on her cheeks and the affectionate eyeroll told another story. All the while, Cornelia quietly ate and drank, keeping a straight face while prodding Irma's foot playfully with her own under the table.

Oh, Irma could get used to mornings like these.

They took turns showering and dressing, and did the usual routine of wrestling for more mirror space as they brushed their teeth and put on make-up.

“So what's the plan for today?” Irma asked, rubbing some kind of moisturiser into her cheeks. Cornelia leaned in closer and inhaled with a happy sigh. Mango. Irma took the opportunity to turn and press a kiss to the tip of her nose, and Cornelia pulled away with a grin.

“Oh, well now we're all together, today will definitely be a decorating day. I mean, it's Christmas eve tomorrow, so it'd be a little sad if we didn't have the decorations ready by then,” she explained with a shrug, uncapping her mascara beginning to apply it to her upper lashes. “It really shouldn't take too long though. We'll have some time to get away, don't worry. And I think tonight my parents reserved dinner for us at a restaurant in town. I have to warn you, the waiter we had last time was super obnoxious...”

Irma stared at her reflection in the mirror, zoning out of Cornelia's anecdote about the wait staff at said restaurant, before glancing over at her girlfriend. In their teen years, she'd always envied how immaculate Cornelia's appearance was. She'd always seemed flawless somehow, even though Irma knew better and would never ever admit that much. Then, those feelings started to mix with something else, and attraction, jealousy and self-consciousness melted into an ugly soup of insecurity in her psyche. Even now, when she knew better than anyone that Cornelia was smitten with her, doubt crept in, especially in situations like these when they had to stand beside one another and pretend like they belonged in the same league.

“You're beautiful,” she sighed, interrupting Cornelia's spontaneous yelp review. Cornelia's hand jerked at the suddenness of Irma's statement and she hurriedly reached to blot away a clump of mascara stuck to the end of her eyelashes.

“Oh. Well, I do my best, and when it comes to make-up practice always makes perfect, you know.”

“I'm not talking about make-up, though yeah, you should consider dropping out of college and becoming a beauty guru on youtube instead.”

“Well, I think you're gorgeous too,” Cornelia replied with a smile, moving onto her lips. First a layer of balm to soften them, a waiting period of three minutes, and then the application of gloss or lipstick. It was her routine every time, and the waiting drove Irma mad in the mornings they'd spent together over the years. Cornelia's lip balm always smelled so damn good that fighting the temptation to kiss it clean off was a rare torture.

“Have you seen me?” muttered Irma, frowning at her reflection. “Eyebags for days. Messy brows. My lips are chapped to fuck and my skin has been kind of red lately...”

“Every time I see you I want to kiss you all over,” Cornelia said in the kind of factual tone that had Irma raising an eyebrow in disbelief. Still, she didn't protest as Cornelia wound her arms around her, and Irma caught a whiff of coconut lip balm. God damn it, she wanted Corny-kisses so bad. “You still get insecure, huh?”

“Hard not to when my girlfriend could pass for a fucking supermodel.”

“While I'm flattered that you hold me in such high regard, you're a far cry from the disaster you're making yourself out to be,” Cornelia laughed. “Besides, if you're really worrying about stuff, just talk to me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Irma muttered. Cornelia rifled through her make-up bag for a few moments, before bringing out a small bottle.

“Come here, dope. Let me help you.”

“Why pay big bucks for a beautician when you can get one for free in the form of a generous girlfriend?” Irma deadpanned, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Cornelia grinned back and started to apply the liquid to her cheeks and brow with some kind of blender sponge thing shaped like an egg.

“The trick to combating redness and dark circles is to have a good, strong base that neutralises any discolouration in your skin. In your case, green tones kind of cancel out reds, and yellows are good against dark circles, so it just leaves your skin looking healthier, see?”

She switched over quickly to one with a yellower hue, and Irma hummed in agreement, staying put as Cornelia began tending to her eyebags.

“I think I get where you're coming from. Hay Lin calls me up all the time to gush about colour theory, the importance of colour wheels is stuck in my brain for life.”

“Oh, you and Hay Lin call each other all the time? More than me?” Cornelia teased. She put down the sponge and reached back over to her make-up bag, retrieved something that Irma could only describe as the world's tiniest broom, and began to tame Irma's unruly eyebrows. “Don't tell me the two of you are having a sordid affair behind my back.”

“Our torrid love affair is about as real as yours with mystery botanist man,” Irma responded. Without breaking eye contact with Cornelia, she reached over for her own chapstick and began to apply it. Cornelia's tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she smoothed down Irma's brows.

“It's bad enough my parents keep going on about him, don't you start.”

“Well, he _is_ my alter-ego,” Irma pointed out. “Seems a little rude to silence my opinions on him.”

“I hate when you make a good point.”

Cornelia leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Irma's brow, breathing in the smell of her mango moisturiser one more time and sighing deeply. Irma, in a similar moment of pure, unfiltered lesbianism, caught the scent of Cornelia's lip balm and damn went out of her mind. She tilted Cornelia's head down and what transpired for the next few minutes were a combination of kisses, hugs, and several attempts to escape Irma's python-like grip.

“It's lipstick time,” Cornelia complained, a playful glint in her eye as she finally pried Irma's arms off of her waist. “My lips will dry out.”

“Honey, we're both balmed up, if anything, now we have a double coating. You'll be fine.”

“Still, the sooner my make-up is done, the sooner we can get decorating out of the way, and the sooner we can chill out watching crappy holiday movies.”

“The temptation to stay in this bathroom where no one's watching and we can keep kissing forever, though...”

“Aren't we saving 'kissing forever' for the week at your place?” Cornelia asked innocently, perfectly pencilled eyebrows raised.

“No, that's 'sex forever', silly,” Irma said cheerfully, clapping her on the back.

She glanced back at her reflection. While the foundation and tiny grooming hadn't done much besides tidying her reflection up some, her eyes twinkled with something she could only describe as 'the Cornelia effect', and she found her appearance didn't really bug her so much by this point. As they stood side by side, Irma came to the realisation that she and Cornelia really did fit together, but more like a pair of odd socks that compliment each other in all their contrasting glory.

Maybe someone else would call that love.

 

…

 

Christmas with the Hales was turning out to be pretty fun.

Irma and Lillian fought bitterly over control of the spotify playlist that morning, while Elizabeth and Cornelia decorated the tree and Harold cheerfully filmed the entire ordeal. Lillian was stubbornly obsessed with the classics, while Irma kept switching them out for lesser appreciated cover versions, partly because rooting for the underdogs was how she rolled, and partly because she got immense glee out of pissing Lillian off (and for that, Cornelia saluted her for her heroism). When Karmilla's edition of 'All I Want For Christmas' came on instead of Mariah Carey, Lillian threatened to throw Irma's phone out of the window, which had Elizabeth swooping in and putting an end to their temporary rivalry.

They called a truce when the parents set out to buy icing and other edible decorations for the Christmas cookies, leaving the girls to prep them for baking. Lillian greased the baking tray while Cornelia mixed eggs and flour and sugar and cinnamon together in a big red bowl. Irma, meanwhile, sat herself on the island and, in compromise with Lillian, put on a playlist of nineties nostalgia, singing along to Re-feel-it and pretending to drum with a pair of wooden spoons against the countertop.

“Funnyyyyy, how we run around,” she belted. “And see what we got, we don't even know what it is we found...”

“And honey, take a look around,” Cornelia chimed in, using the whisk as a microphone. She spun on her heels, her eyes meeting Irma's as she lifted the whisk up to her lips. “By the time we get there we won't even know where it is we're bound!”

The two of them burst out laughing, and Lillian rolled her eyes. “Dorks.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Cornelia sighed dramatically, smirking at Irma before turning back to the mixing bowl and continuing to whisk the mixture. “I forgot we were in your divine presence, Lillian. I hope you can forgive us for entering the realm of uncool nostalgia for two seconds.”

Irma snorted.

“You know, she always gets more sarcastic when you're around, Irma,” Lillian accused.

“Yeah, I rub off on her. I'm a baaaad influence.”

“Is that any way to talk to our renowned guest?” Cornelia chastised. “What would Dad say?”

“He'd probably tell you not to sing into the whisk. You know how many germs you could be putting into the cookies by breathing on the mixture? You've built up an immunity living among students, but have some consideration for those of us who haven't stepped foot in a sweaty student union hall.”

“You're actually mad,” Irma cackled. “What kind of diseases could Cornelia have besides a bad case of the cooties? Unless... Corny, _please_ don't tell me your parents are anti-vaxxers, or I might have to end this friendship for good.”

“Hell no, they're fine. Since when did you become such a germophobe, Lillian?” Cornelia teased.

“I play zombie games,” Lillian responded sagely. “I know how infection spreads.”

“They really don't paint as accurate a picture as you've been led to believe.”

As the mixture began to thicken into a dough, Lillian joined Irma on sitting on the island counter.

“So what's college like?”

“Classes are boring, my roommate sucks, and I'm drowning in student loans. But the parties are fun, and the people are cool when they aren't being pretentious tools.”

Lillian hummed.

“I can't wait until _I_ go to college. Community's one of my favourite shows.”

“Heh, well, Community is an exaggeration for the sake of comedy, but...”

“Cornelia, what's your college like?”

“You saw it when you and Mom and Dad helped me move in,” Cornelia pointed out, distracted as she began to knead the dough.

“Yeah, but it's not the same! Your dorm is nice, sure, but what about the classes? The parties? The boys?”

“Hmm, I don't know about that. Boys aren't my area of expertise.”

“Well that's gay.”

Irma raised her eyebrows.

“Using 'gay' as an insult? Very 2004 of you.”

Lillian rolled her eyes. “Sorry. So _you_ don't have a boyfriend?”

“Nope,” Irma said shortly.

Cornelia began to knead a little harder.

“I bet you know stuff about _Cornelia's_ boyfriend though,” Lillian said to Irma, arms folded. “Why doesn't she talk about him? Is he secretly ugly?”

Irma snorted.

“Ha. I know a thing or two, but he's actually... probably the most handsome person I've ever known. Aside from your sister!” She playfully punched Lillian on the arm, who looked unimpressed by the statement. Cornelia made a strangled sound.

“Lillian, pass me the cookie cutters, please,” she choked.

Lillian raised her eyebrows and hopped off the counter top, retrieving ones shaped like pine trees and angels and bells, handing them to Cornelia.

“Here they are, weirdo. Anyway, you can't blame me for being curious! We had to pry it out of you that you were seeing anyone at all, and you're always so twitchy when we bring him up. Irma, is he a junkie or a biker or something?”

“Nope, just a loser who lies around watching cartoons all day,” Irma responded with a lazy grin.

“So you have a thing in common.”

“Lillian!” Cornelia admonished, slamming a cookie cutter into the dough with enough force to make the other shapes jump. “Also, Irma, I don't appreciate you calling my partner a loser.”

Lillian pulled a face.

“Partner? What are you, old timers?”

“Cowboys,” Irma chimed in.

“Oh, stop teasing me,” Cornelia huffed. “I'm just trying to be more inclusive. The world could do with more of that, you know.”

Lillian shrugged. “Whatever. So you're liberal now?”

“I reckon I've always been, yes.”

“And you, Irma?”

“Socialist, through and through.”

“Of course you are.”

“Just wait until college, Lillian,” Irma chided with a smile, as Cornelia began setting out the Christmas cookies on the tray. “There's a whole wide world out there.”

 

…

 

The Italian restaurant Harold took them to that night was fucking fancy, to say the least. The kind of fancy where there were lemon-scented wipes in little packets on every table and complimentary garlic dough balls and everyone was in suits and dresses. The Hales looked like they fit right in, and Irma was some vagrant they'd picked up off of the streets and were treating to dinner in a commendable act of charity.

“I don't even know what half the stuff on this menu is,” Irma hissed to Cornelia as they took their seats.

“It's good food,” Cornelia promised. “They just use posh names to scare people into thinking its worth the money they're paying. Come on, you watch enough Hell's Kitchen to know what filet mignon is.”

Irma ended up ordering something that she was pretty sure was some kind of beef thing, and Cornelia ordered the one pasta dish on the menu that used aubergines instead of pancetta. The wine was decent at least, and Irma found it easier to sneak glances at Cornelia's cleavage in the scoop neck dress she was wearing with the large flower centrepiece obscuring them from her parents. Lillian, while looking the part in a simple white turtle neck dress, was very obviously playing on her phone under the table.

The sweet onion soup starters arrived swiftly, and Irma was dragged back into a light grilling about her teaching degree from Harold, while Elizabeth began to catch Cornelia up with the latest family drama.

“Why, I just think it's so inspiring that you're choosing to act as a beacon for young people, and pave their futures-”

“-And your uncle, of course, is still coming around asking for money, as if your grandparents don't have enough to worry about-”

“-And you know, teaching qualifications open up the whole world to you! You could teach in international schools, or you could teach English in schools where it's a secondary language-”

“-It's not like their health is getting any better, you know! I keep telling him it's time to stand on his own two feet, he's certainly old enough-”

The moment that their waiter came to take the dishes away, Irma hurriedly excused herself.

In the bathroom (one of those spotless white ones with tiny shell-shaped soaps and embossed toilet paper because _of course, rich people_ ) Irma took a few moments to collect herself, staring at her reflection in dismay. She'd done her best to look presentable, but she still stuck out like a sore thumb in this kind of environment. Her dress was a little tight since the last time she'd worn it was for graduation, and her choker was crooked. Her bun was already starting to look lopsided, the redness of her cheeks was starting to show through the base Cornelia had applied that morning...

“Why am I not as perfect as the folks out there?” she muttered to herself, eyes narrowing as she glared at her reflection. She reached for one of the shell-shaped hand soaps and began to pick it with the edge of her fingernail. Absently, the faucet turned and water began to gush out, thrumming to the beat of her frustration.

After a few minutes of self-loathing and contemplation, she heard the sound of the door open behind her, and saw a flash of Irish green fabric, before Cornelia came up behind her, a vision of concern. She startled as the small army of water gushing from the faucet turned on her, almost letting out a hiss of steam, before Irma quickly called it off, allowing it to taper down the drain and out of sight.

“Irma, are you okay? My parents thought I should check on you in case the wine didn't agree with you, but...”

“Yeah, it isn't the wine,” Irma sighed. “It's this whole place. I can't fucking believe your dad called this place rustic on the way here.”

“He doesn't know the meaning of the word,” Cornelia agreed with a giggle. She wrapped her arms around Irma, leaning down to rest her chin on her shoulder. “You look amazing tonight.”

“Really?” Irma sighed. “I don't feel it. Or is this a classic 'lying to your girlfriend's face so she doesn't start crying in a stupidly fancy bathroom' tactic?”

“Well, it wouldn't be a great start to the meal.” Cornelia pressed a kiss to her jaw. “But I'm serious. You look great.”

“I'm practically bursting out of this dress. My tits are fighting for freedom. And my hair is coming undone and my stupid face is getting stupid red!”

“Of course it is, you've been drinking,” Cornelia said, rolling her eyes fondly. “And your face is the furthest thing from stupid, so don't even start.”

“I'm past the point of starting, Corny, I'm waist-fucking-deep in it. Look at this damn soap.” She gestured aggressively towards a shrivelled pebble in the basin. “That was shaped like a fucking seashell when I came in here and I picked and picked at it and now it looks like, I don't know, a really tiny golf ball?”

“Wow. Okay, let's take a step back from the soap.” Cornelia spun her around and rested her hands on her shoulders. “Irma, you look wonderful tonight. Seriously, you do, and I hate that going to this stupid dinner has made you so worked up.”

“It's not just the dinner.” Irma frowned up at her so-tall-it-was-unfair girlfriend. “Look at us. I mean, really look. We're like chalk and cheese, except, you're too pretty to be chalk. We're like – I don't know! An oil painting and cheese! I don't belong here eating food so fancy I can't pronounce it with wine I'm too weak to drink and in a dress that's too tiny for my damn good. You might fit into this magazine-spread life where everything is minimalist and perfect and velvet but I just _don't._ I saw it in the mirror this morning and I saw it in the mirror again just now. Are you honestly okay with that?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Cornelia asked, the smile gone from her face. “I love you. I love having you in my life. Sure, I like the nice material stuff sometimes, but if you think for one second that I'd put that stuff before you – before _us_ – then the wine has definitely gone to your head.”

Irma huffed. After a beat, she muttered, “Rich people wine is ridiculous.”

“Agreed. Now, listen to me. We're too deep into this relationship to be hitting insecurities over stuff like this, got it? You know I come from money. You wanted to come on this trip with me. Unfortunately, that means seeing the way my family lives up close and personal. I just want you to remember that doesn't define me, or how I feel about you. I _want_ you here. Okay?”

“I hate when you're being reasonable,” Irma groaned. She hugged Cornelia tight.

“Oof. Heh, don't tell me you're drunk already, we have the rest of a dinner to get through.”

“Are you gonna tell your parents tonight?” Irma mumbled into Cornelia's waist.

Cornelia hummed uncertainly. “Maybe. I don't know.”

“Well, remember I still love you. If you don't wanna come out here in this stupid fancy restaurant, no pressure. We'll make it happen some other time.”

“Hey, no need to comfort me, you're the one feeling insecure,” Cornelia teased. Irma lifted her head up to protest, and was met with Cornelia's lips pressing against her forehead.

“Ugh, you're too cute,” whined Irma. “If I weren't wearing heels I would go on my tiptoes and kiss you. And if _you_ weren't wearing heels, we might actually be fucking level for once.”

“Thanks for clarifying that,” Cornelia quipped. “Not to worry, I can accommodate you.”

She leaned down and cupped Irma's cheeks, pulling her into a kiss.

The sound of the bathroom door abruptly shutting ended the sickeningly sweet moment, and they jolted apart. Lillian stood there, wide-eyed.

“Uhhh. Mom told me to come get you two, the main courses are out...” She blinked a few times. “Are you guys... lesbians?”

“Lillian,” Cornelia started, voice strained.

“ _I'm_ a lesbian,” Irma said with a shrug and an awkward chuckle.

“So you called me ignorant earlier even though you really _are_ gay?”

“Ignorance is ignorance, sis.”

“Lillian, please don't tell Mom and Dad about this,” Cornelia pleaded. “I'm going to tell them myself, I just haven't had time to yet.”

Lillian folded her arms and huffed.

“I can't believe your mystery guy is just Irma.”

“Oh, ouch?”

Cornelia let go of Irma and approached Lillian.

“I'm serious. Can you please promise me you won't say anything?”

Lillian shrugged.

“I guess. I mean, I don't care about it. Not like they'd believe me anyway.” Seeing Cornelia's pinched expression, she sighed loudly. “All right, no. No, I won't say anything. So you can stop looking at me like that! Now come on, or Mom will be next to find us in here.”

As she pushed open the door to leave, she turned back.

“Also, Irma, you've got lipstick on your face. Hard to play dumb when the evidence is right there on your forehead.”

“When did she become such a smartass?” Irma muttered as Cornelia fished around in her clutch, bringing out a make-up wipe. “Look, don't panic. Lillian might be a pain, but she respects your business. Probably. I mean, I don't know her that well, but it's none of her business right? She knows that.”

“How did she seem to you?” Cornelia asked, chewing her lip. “Uncomfortable? Freaked out? D-Disgusted?”

“None. It was the same kind of grossed out she got when she caught you making out with Peter for the first time, I reckon. It was sibling disgust, not, y'know, her being a phobe.”

“Are you sure?” Cornelia fretted.

“Super sure. Now come on, you heard what she said. Lets go back before your mom drags us back by the ears.”

Irma reached over to squeeze her hand and didn't let go until they were out of the bathroom and in sight of the Hales. Elizabeth turned and shot them a disapproving look, motioning them back over, and Harold's face lit up with a delighted smile.

“I was starting to think the two of you had fallen in!” he joked, as they took their seats. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything's fine,” Cornelia promised, a lie rolling effortlessly from her tongue as Irma stared down at the steak au poivre in front of her. “Irma just smudged her mascara and needed me to come to her rescue.”

“Ah, I see. Surely it shouldn't take that long though?” Elizabeth turned to Lillian. “Were they taking selfies?”

“Oh, they were having a gay old time in there,” Lillian deadpanned.

Cornelia froze. Irma dared to look up from her food to stare daggers at Lillan.

A moment passed, and Harold shrugged.

“Well, I'll never understand it, myself. But the youth of today are always finding beauty in everything! They can make moments last a lifetime! And I'm envious that an entire generation has learned to take pictures from an angle that certainly appear more flattering in post-production...”

As his speech continued, the tension melted away. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the two of them, as if to silently chastise them for sending Harold on a spiel about technological advancements, before tucking into her food.

Cornelia swiftly kicked Lillian under the table, but all she got back in response was an impish grin.

 

…

 

“Urgh, I'm full to burst.”

A now pyjama-clad Irma flopped face down on the pull-out bed, before rolling onto her side and burping softly into the back of her hand.

“I told warned you against dessert, if you recall,” Cornelia said with a grin, pulling her nightgown over her head.

“Yeah, but they had cheesecake. You _know_ I'm weak for cheesecake, Corny.”

“That I do.” Cornelia lay down beside her. “I was a bundle of nerves the whole night.”

“Aw, come here.” Irma pulled Cornelia close, combing her fingers through her hair. “Lillian was just being a brat, that's all. She's got dirt on you, of course she's gonna poke a little fun. But she wasn't about to out you or anything.”

“I know,” Cornelia groaned. “I know. But she's on thin ice, I'm telling you now!”

“Well, the sooner you get it off your chest, the sooner she'll lose that power over you,” Irma pointed out. She yawned. “I'm pooped. Can you turn the light off? And then come spoon me?”

“Sure, your highness,” teased Cornelia, prying Irma's hands off her waist. As she wandered over to the light switch near the hallway, she caught sight of Lillian leaving the bathroom. The two stood there in silence for a few moments, before Cornelia uttered, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Lillian shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. “Hey, Cornelia?”

“Yeah?”

“Um. I know I didn't say it at the restaurant, but... I don't like, mind or anything. About you and Irma.”

Relief washed over her.

“You don't?”

“No! And you should stop caring that somebody does, you know? Mom and Dad are whatever. I don't know if they'd care about it. But, it shouldn't matter if we mind or not, that's my point. It's about you and Irma, not about the rest of us. Although, since you're a lesbian now, I wish you had better taste in girls. I've seen her eat peanut butter out of the jar with her fingers,” Lillian pointed out, pulling a face.

Cornelia, stunned by the overload of information, leaned back against the wall.

“With her fingers?”

“Yup. It was our house peanut butter, too!”

Cornelia buried her head in her hands. “Oh my god. If I didn't love her so damn much that would for sure be a deal breaker. Also, I'm not a lesbian.”

“You're not?”

“No. I loved Peter, remember?”

Lillian pouted. “Yeah. I miss him.”

“I know you do, you remind me all the time.” Cornelia squared her shoulders. “Lillian, I'm pansexual.”

Lillian raised an eyebrow. “ _Pan_ sexual?”

“Yes. Pansexual. I... fancy people regardless of whether they're a guy, a girl, or nonbinary.”

“Nonbinary?”

“The internet is a great place to learn about this stuff, since you're on the track to being an ally now.”

Lillian giggled.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, okay. So you're not gay, you're... what's the short of it? Pan?”

Cornelia nodded wordlessly.

“Okay. Cool. You're pan. And Irma's your girlfriend. And _she's_ a lesbian?”

“Yes. You caught on fast.”

With a shrug, Lillian said simply, “It wasn't that hard to grasp. You're pan, Irma's gay, you're dating. That's that.”

Cornelia's mouth opened and closed a few times. At last, she uttered, “You made that seem really easy.”

“I'm a smart and socially aware kid,” Lillian said proudly, hands on her hips. Her smug expression softened. “And I'm happy you're happy. I was kinda thinking, cause you never mentioned your 'mystery uni boyfriend', that maybe you didn't really like him. I'm glad it's just a mix up.”

Cornelia's heart swelled, and she stepped towards Lillian, hugging her tight.

“You're a good sister.”

“And you're a _clingy_ sister, god!”

They bid goodnight and Cornelia climbed into bed beside Irma, who had her back to her and was softly groaning. She yelped as Cornelia wriggled under the covers.

“Holy crap, Corny, your feet are colder than Mount fucking Thanos!”

“So warm me up.”

“Sorry, you got the wrong guardian for _that_ party trick.”

Cornelia rolled her eyes fondly and reached around to spoon her.

“Geez, you ate too much. Your stomach feels like a rock.”

“Don't bully me, that was rich people food! How many times am I gonna get to eat like that again, huh?”

“If you'd just let me take you fancy places-” Cornelia pointed out.

“You know I hate fancy places!” whined Irma, punctuated by another burp. “Ugh. Just cuddle me to sleep, jerk.”

“Who are you calling a jerk, jerk?”

Cornelia obliged nonetheless, letting her body wrap around Irma's with a familiarity that had adapted over the years; from guardian sleepovers to family vacations to just the two of them drunkenly sprawled out in Cornelia's dorm. And now here they were, fitting together like jigsaw pieces, water and earth.

“Sweet dreams,” Cornelia whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Irma's neck.

“Keep your lips to yourself, Corny,” mumbled Irma sleepily, snuggling closer all the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: accidentally slips in a (bad) mini make-up tutorial like this is a milk morinaga manga. please don't take cornelia's advice here okay i'm a lesbian and not even of the lipstick variety, i dont know what the fuck i'm doing  
> anyway here's part 2. i'm pretty sure i've slipped lgbtq headcanons for all the guardians at this point so here you go, enjoy me rubbing my queer little hands over my fave magical girl series.  
> i am absolutely not making promises on when i update this fic because as we all know by now, i am terrible at updating. still, if you feel like commenting, it would totally make my day! <3

**Author's Note:**

> At the moment this is planned to be about 5 chapters long? Updates may be slow though because I'm a busy bee. Comment and let me know your thoughts?


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